“I love you, still,” Toronto

Graffiti art is yours for the taking.

I often take notice of what the streets of Toronto look like on the ever-beloved TTC ride I take each morning (sometimes) to my ever-beloved early morning class. That’s if I’m on time, let’s not get hasty. On an outstandingly early September morning, riding the 47B Lansdowne bus, something caught my eye. ‘I love you still,’ words of yearning to hear from the city itself were somewhat comforting to see self-actualized into tangible graffiti art. Semi-permanent art, unless you capture it. The automated TTC voice woke me up from my thoughts. 

I smile to myself and snap a quick photo for Instagram. But it means more than a post—it is a message. At that moment I glanced out the window, an artist was communicating with me. At that moment I glanced out my window, I hoped the goal of the unknown artist was met. I hoped the spray-painted message touched the deep, stone-cold, piercing winter hearts of those who say “We the North.”

The bus passed along a stop en route, “Next stop, Dundas St. West.” My trip towards Lansdowne station takes me briefly at a downhill speed while riding down the ramp along Rideau Avenue. Black ink bled on the concrete separation blocks barricading the ramp. The bus resurfaces after passing through a tunnel, one more push and I’ll be at College Street and brace myself for the rest of the ride. “Lansdowne Station” announces the TTC voice, I pull on that yellow lever and leave my one-seater window view. I left that bus that day, smelling horribly of whatever delicious, Torontonian aroma it was, with something to be proud of. Making my way east, I headed to campus.

A documentary directed by the infamous street artist Banksy was shown in one of my English classes, called Exit Through The Gift Shop. The film follows Thierry Guetta’s journey as an up-and-coming photographer and videographer. Banksy’s depiction displays Guetta’s spunk, grit, and passion—all the ingredients needed to make a great artist. Guetta began to record each passing second of his day, eventually turning his focus from himself to the streets and found his inspiration in street art. He embarked on a journey to film graffiti artists in L.A., to catch them in action, and immerse himself in the high-risk adrenaline rush of the art form. 

He managed to attract the attention of legendary graffiti artists, becoming enamoured with the excitement of tagging on the run while the rest of the world slept. He filmed artists painting tags, phrases, and abstract pieces—from poorly done work to greatly executed masterpieces. 

Bansky’s name derives from a revolutionary work of art spray painted on the West Bank wall: a black silhouette of a young girl being carried away by a bunch of balloons she holds. It was here that graffiti transcended its devious reputation, turning it into a vehicle for activism, and Bansky’s legacy was born. What remains disputed is the legitimacy of Guetta’s career as an artist. Guetta’s sudden switch from filmmaker to graffiti artist is perceived as rather desperate, especially once it is revealed how far his self-proclaimed genius went when executed. The film created from his footage resulted in an incoherent, and almost comical representation of graffiti art. 

Yet, Guetta persevered, later developing his street artist persona, ‘Mr. Brainwash.’ Without the artistic talent, nor the training, Guetta hired a team of artists to execute his ideas in a public gallery viewing. One could say they were iterations of Warhol’s pop-art thematic approach. Mr. Brainwash’s Andy Warhol (2009) depicts Andy Warhol’s face layered over Warhol’s original portrait of Marilyn Monroe. Mr. Brainwash did more than pull a small crowd, line-ups of art fanatics came to see ‘Life is Beautiful.’ The exhibit garnered media attention all over L.A. It goes to show that there is never one way to be an artist or a singular definition of art. 

On that morning bus ride and when in the west end of Toronto, Mr. Brainwash and Banksy’s legacy come to mind. As a local to Parkdale, a frequent tag I see reads, “I love you, still.” This message smeared across the walls of King St. West and Trinity Bellwoods, evokes a certain air of mystery. Despite other more eclectic and colourful expressions of street art existing in the city, the simple tag ‘I love you, still’ has stuck with me the most. When viewing the clutter of vibrant collages of works, like Toronto’s Graffiti Alley, I am usually overwhelmed by the sea of art—unsure of where to focus. The statement and signature of ‘I love you, still,’ accomplishes a unique focus, it has an unintended target audience. 

  I like to believe the words of longing as a desperate call-out, a lingering message of hope. The original artist entreats its target reader to uncover a sentiment that resonates with them or a message from a lost loved one. 

Then again, who knows? There are only so many explanations for an artist’s intent, but the beauty of graffiti, and this city, sometimes rests within its ambiguity. It’s up for the taking: ownership ceases to exist. Street art can be considered all for one, and one for all, embodied within the space it chooses to take up.